Fitz-James was brave. Though to his heart The life-blood thrilled with sudden start, He manned himself with dauntless air, 230 Returned the Chief his haughty stare, His back against a rock he bore, And firmly placed his foot before: "Come one, come all! this rock shall fly From its firm base as soon as I." 235 Sir Roderick marked--and in his eyes Respect was mingled with surprise, And the stern joy which warriors feel In foemen worthy of their steel. Short space he stood--then waved his hand; 240 Down sunk the disappearing band; Each warrior vanished where he stood, In broom or bracken, heath or wood; Sunk brand and spear and bended bow, In osiers pale and copses low; 245 It seemed as if their mother Earth Had swallowed up her warlike birth. The wind's last breath had tossed in air, Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair; The next but swept a lone hill-side, 250 Where heath and fern were waving wide. The sun's last glance was glinted back, From spear and glaive, from targe and jack, The next, all unreflected, shone On bracken green, and cold gray stone. 255 XI Fitz-James looked round--yet scarce believed The witness that his sight received; Such apparition well might seem Delusion of a dreadful dream. Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed, 260 And to his look the Chief replied, "Fear naught--nay, that I need not say-- But--doubt not aught from mine array. Thou art my guest--I pledged my word As far as Coilantogle ford; 265 Nor would I call a clansman's brand For aid against one valiant hand, Though on our strife lay every vale Rent by the Saxon from the Gael. So move we on--I only meant 270 To show the reed on which you leant, Deeming this path you might pursue Without a pass from Roderick Dhu." They moved--I said Fitz-James was brave, As ever knight that belted glaive; 275 Yet dare not say, that now his blood Kept on its wont and tempered flood, As, following Roderick's stride, he drew That seeming lonesome pathway through, Which yet, by fearful proof, was rife 280 With lances, that, to take his life, Waited but signal from a guide, So late dishonored and defied. Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round The vanished guardians of the ground, 285 And still, from copse and heather deep, Fancy saw spear and broadsword peep, And in the plover's shrilly strain, The signal whistle heard again. Nor breathed he free till far behind 290 The pass was left; for then they wind Along a wide and level green, Where neither tree nor tuft was seen,